


We’re All Stories in The End

by susiephalange



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Female Reader, Season/Series 01, Storytelling, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Locked in the Sky Box for almost your whole life, being sent down to Earth is a blessing in disguise. But the complexities in your need to tell stories, and the problems you have with your identity after being kept away so long from society meet, leading to unknown territories.





	We’re All Stories in The End

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written Bell in a while, and I thought, _Hey, let's fill the tag with our insecurities as a writer!_ and if you're reading this note right here, it means **I D I D I T**!!

There were thieves. Vandals. Murderers. There were people who saw darkness in space, who dreamed of the downfall of mankind when their eyes were closed. Then, there was you, framed for a crime worse than your own daydreams, and forced into the Sky Box for years and years. It was only a week until your birthday when the Chancellor decided to send the hundred down. The choice would save your life, but, could potentially kill you a week earlier than expected.

But it didn’t.

Falling out of the sky, and landing on Earth was the scariest thing you could have ever imagined, but what was scarier still was the fact that on Earth…you all were not alone.

While everyone settled into the Dropship and made their home in tents around inside the barriers, you found it hard to sleep at night. It was hard to do anything, really. After seven years of being locked up, no sunlight, no contact with people. Luckily, your old friends Monty and Jasper brought you back into their posse, integrating you back into the world. There were hunters, and gatherers, and fighters and people who made alcohol. There were healers and hurters, peacemakers, and lovers. Then, there was you, who after the longest sentence on the Ark, had turned into the best storyteller known to mankind, who brought all the hundred together around the fire at night with only your words.

Octavia and you barely spoke, mostly because of your shut-in antics, and her boisterous nature to get out in around in the world. While she was chasing butterflies and the heart of a Grounder, your eyes were trailing around after her brother, the one and only Bellamy Blake.

“You’re staring at his ass again,” Jasper throws a rock into the fire pit, not yet lit for the evening oncoming, “You’re always staring at his ass, _______.”

You push at his chest. “Am not, _Goggles_.” You taunt, flicking the glasses on his forehead.

Monty shakes his head. “Jasper’s right. Though you stare at a lot of asses, you stare at Blake’s the most. Don’t tell me you’ve got heart-eyes for the guy.”

You feel your face heat up. “My eyes are normal shape, and you are wrong. I just like his bum. If you’re locked away since eleven, would you not stare at all the asses you can?” You grin back, and reaching into your satchel, pick out your notebook. It was the only thing you could keep in the Sky Box with you, that, and a pen. Inside are all the stories you have ever thought of, and flicking to a familiar page, you read aloud, “ _The Swan was trapped within a cage in the sky, her domain, but not allowed to sing, to fly. One day the Swan -,”_

Jasper interrupts you. “ _would soar around the stars and heavens twice, and land in the realm beyond where sleep took her._ ” He makes a noise. “I’ve heard that one too many times.”

You hum, and add, “… _there would be more swans there, their wingspan wide, their hearts bleeding for their crimes, but lives eternal. Here they would be free.”_ With a pen Clarke had found on the ground, you write the new part in as it flows through you. “ _But even free of her bonds, she is never truly free of her form, as the Swan is in disguise.”_

Monty grins. “Oh, I like how this one is turning out…will it be ready for tonight?” He asks.

You shake your shoulders, and rising to stand, move toward the Drop Ship. “The story will come as it comes. The people named Romans long ago told stories, and they had a Genius sharing their stories with the men. Maybe here on Earth I will find my own Genius.”

Leaving your friends, you move toward the hunkering metal in the clearing, the Drop Ship that houses the work stations for the mechanics, the sick, the important people up above where they can contain their confidential whisperings. It wasn’t like anyone down here had a rank anymore, except for the people who were close to the leaders. It felt different, having no rank. It felt good. Like one more bond was freed from your heavy heart. Once you part the material to the entrance, you’re met with the gaze of Raven Reyes. The mechanic works over a radio or something, and she knows the look in your eye. She points up the stairs. Following her direction, you find yourself at the top of the Drop Ship. The décor isn’t too unlike the cell you spent so much time in, and there is little natural light. But there is Bellamy, standing with his back to you.

“Bellamy Blake?” you question. “May I have a moment, to speak?”

He turns, giving you a look which melts your heart. It’s almost like he can read the thoughts straight from your head. Crossing his arms, he nods, “What’s on your mind?”

“For the last week, I have told stories around the fire. I’ve noticed that people…like them.” You feel a redness spread across your face, a flush of embarrassment. “I have noticed they are like a propaganda, and I do not want to make the leaders feel I am turning crowds from them,” you state, and add quickly, “I have no skills to share with the camp, only my stories. I don’t want to have them taken from me.”

Bellamy waves his hand in a vague way. “I don’t think Clarke and I will make you stop telling harmless stories around a fire, _______. What got you sent down here, again?”

You swallow. “Everyone knows my story.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Everyone but me. Humour me.” A pause passes between the two of you, and he adds in a smaller voice, “Please.”

“I…I was found when my father died by his body. Someone killed him with pharmaceuticals, and framed me for it.” You tell him, but this time when you talk, you cannot meet his eyes, those pretty eyes. “They called me terrible names for it,” you swallow, and quickly add, “I didn’t kill him.”

“You were only a child,” He nods, eyes sad, voice low, almost a distracted whisper, “…was that all you needed to speak about?”

You hesitate, but nod. Perhaps if you were braver, you’d kiss him, or maybe wink at him as you walk away. But not now. Now you nod, and retreat from the high tower the warrior prince plots the next moves against the Grounders from. If he was in your story, he would be a bear, and so would his sister. The bears in the night’s sky. Leading people home.

* * *

That night in the tent you share with Octavia, you lay there awake. She is asleep, her fair skin glowing in the moonlight that seeps through the canvas, hair splayed like a blanket of night sky awaiting the stars to lay themselves within it. Your mind is reeling from your conversation with her brother and the leader, Bellamy, filled with the story you told around the fire earlier.

Instead of speaking of the swan story you have been working on, you had recited an old tale, a myth from ages long, long lost. Of Gods cruel and cowardly and great and wise, who hid away on their mountain while the people played their games, watching them on high. You told of the Olympiads, and the story of the God who came from his mountain in a shower of gold, and the child who grew up to slay monsters.

Of course, it was only a story, and the remaining hundred were happy to hear a story where the good people won in the end. People dispersed, and fell to bed like flies upon oncoming rain.

But when sleep claimed you, the dreams were less than favourable. They were of the darkness that came before mankind, a chaos that reined until the world happened. Tormented, you feel words come screaming from your throat, like all those nights in the Sky Box. But unlike your time locked away, there is someone above you when you tear your eyes open, their eyes searching yours deeper than you could ever fathom.

“You’re safe, you’re okay,” a deep voice murmurs, fingers carding through your hair. “You’re safe, _______, you’re okay.”

But your head is hot, and chest heavy, and wriggling out from the embrace, you feel like you might become sick. But the illness does not catch up to you, not like the tears do. At once, it feels as if your skin is shedding, your chest heaving, your head spinning as if some transformation is taking place. From swan to woman. But you are still in your skin, and your hands seek to hold those who cradle you from all the ill will in the world.

“Bellamy?” you whisper, once your voice returns to you.

He hums in response, rocking you softly in his arms in the tent. It would be an otherwise compromising position, but your heart is still racing, and your heart loves Bellamy Blake as much as you love his ass, and unbeknownst to you, he loves you also, and does not mind running from his own bed to yours to comfort you. But like children, your hearts have not pondered upon this love, and left it unspoken in the corner of your chests.

“I was locked up again,” you whisper. “The Chancellor came to Earth –,”

Bellamy’s hand is in your hair once more, cradling your head to his chest. “Shhh, _______, it was a dream. You’re innocent. It’s okay.”

You shake. “Promise to me. Promise me, Bellamy.”

The leader nodded, breath warm on your neck. “I promise. I wouldn’t lie to the person I loved.”

_But even free of her bonds, she is never truly free of her form, as the Swan is in disguise. Her mind was stolen from her, her spirit too, and she wears feathers instead of skin. The night would lead her home, Polaris in the sky bearing the news she needs to hear._

“I think I love you too, Bell.” You whisper.

_Slowly, the swan would fall from the spell, and like all the swans around her, be free at last. All with the guidance of the bears in the sky._

* * *

 

Outside the tent, Octavia stood with her arms crossed, her smile larger than what a frown of annoyance could be on her face. Though never asked for her opinion on topic, she understood what her brother needed, and missed ever since his childhood friend _______ had been locked up for unfair crimes. So now the young woman stood in the night air, watching the stars as she contemplated not returning to her tent to allow her brother time.

“What’s the commotion?” Monty rubbed his eyes, seeing Octavia standing there. “Grounder attack?” It would be the only reason he could think of for the smile that took up half of her face. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew she liked the one with the war paint and tattoos.

She shook her head. “Bellamy and _______.”

Monty grinned. “Finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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